Disorganized, disjointed, and sometimes completely lost,
but finding my way through writing.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

word collector

I was walking out
of my sister’s office this morning past several quotes printed in bright ink
and mounted on matching cardstock. My nieces, who work there also, have
scattered inspirational words all over the office and I thought, “We are a
family of quoters”. And for the first time, and it’s weird that this was the
first time (is it really the first time?), I thought of how it all started with
our Dad.

I was at my
parents’ house about once a week throughout my adult life, and more often as
they got older. Several times a month there would be a clipping of a social
commentary cartoon from the newspaper or some inspirational words from the
church bulletin posted on the refrigerator or laid out on the table. He cut out
things that made him laugh or seemed especially relevant to something going on
in the family. A lot of times his clippings were personal, cut out specifically
for me or one of my siblings. Given that there were so many of us, it was
always amazing that he knew which words would speak to which child. When it
came time to create photo boards for his funeral several of us naturally,
without even talking about it, collected quotes that made us think of him and
helped us to show our love and gratitude for his life.

I’ve been writing
words I collect from my reading on the White Board outside my house for 5 years
now and today was the first time I really connected that work to my Dad. He was
the reason I started the board in the first place (the first word was simply
“Hope” after his cancer diagnosis) but I didn’t give him the credit he really deserves.
My Dad wasn’t a big reader (well, he did
read 2 newspapers every day) but his word collection showed me the value, the
power, of words strung thoughtfully together and shared.

And now that I’ve
thought about it, I realize the tradition in strong all over my family. My
sister has words to inspire relaxation posted around her beach house. My
brother peppers his conversation withpoignant quotes remembered from his reading.

And here is the wall of my
daughter’s bedroom. Her grandfather would be proud.

So, here’s a clipping
for you, Dad. I don’t need scissors to collect my words, but I’ll share them
just like you.